Wow, this is right on time, as usual.

Let's see. Chicago --> CAK was....mmm.... oh, here it is, Friday, 22 February. So, what is there to say? A lot, really. Most of the people I see F2F have already heard the adventures over and over (and over). I've never been accused of being boring.

The Training

Sam and I went to Chicago for training. Regarding the training, it all went very well, and we're now both certified to install and configure the Sphericall system. Not much else to report on that front. However, our training partners were from the UK. Cambridge, that is. Mike and Andy. Couple of great chaps, they are. Although, I imagine Andy would rather be called a bloke, whereas, Mike is a fine chap. As we spent a great deal of time exchanging humor and colloquialisms, Andy pointed out how "Mike is a posh loke. For example, Mike has a gar-A'ge, whereas, I have a gA'-rage." Mike and Andy were loads of fun. Mike couldn't stop pointing out how "cheap the beer is [t]here", while I couldn't stop pointing out maybe it's the exchange rate. Either way, a good time was had by all. I think.

The City

Well, other than Elmo's Tombstones - While You Wait, we never made it there. Drove back past it on the way to O'hare, if that counts.

The Flight Home

Ahhh, this is where the story begins. O'hare. Terminal 2. Concourse F. Gate 11. 6pm. If you've never been to O'hare, then let me confirm the rumors: it's very large, and it's very busy. But, gate 11, now that's a story all its own. It's an unwritten Stephen King novella. (Maybe it's an unwritten episode of The Colbert Report.) Either way, if you haven't been there, think 1408. If you haven't seen 1408, I'll do my best to describe the scene.

Gate F11: Chicago's O'Hare International airport.

I enter Terminal 2 and start the long walk toward the end of the airport - concourse F. After the trek down the unending corridor, past untold masses of travelers, vendors, and the TSA, I finally arrive at the end... of concourse F. I look around and all I see are people. Seats filled with hundreds of people. Their faces glaring at me through the fog of delayed flights and cancellations. Their eyes, piercing my soul with a thousand silent screams for mercy. The air is foul - dank and musty. What's that stench? It's sweat. It's people. It's delayed travelers.

I look around and see gates 10, 12 and 14, but no gate 11... or 13 either!. Where are they? Where is IT? It must be here, unless the airport architects were superstitious and feared the number 11 too. No, it must be here somewhere, it's printed on my boarding pass. Then I see it. A sign pointing downward toward a set of stairs, and a broken escalator that's covered with caution tape. The sign says... "Abandon all hope, ye who enter F11."

As I approach the stairs, the air thickens. The stench becomes more nauseating. The air down there looks like hot Phoenix asphalt in July, but it's Chicago in the middle of February. It can't be over 8 degrees Fahrenheit outside, but the heat. I can feel the heat rising from the stairs. I pause, but my heart races. I don't want to go down there. I have no choice. Somewhere, beyond the final stair, is a plane. My only hope. My salvation awaits.... down there. (it's like when you're 4 and your parents forced you to eat broccoli, but you didn't want to, but you really wanted the pudding for dessert. I digress.)

I begin to descend. Step. by. step. One at a time. No sudden moves. Stay alert. The mighty Cerberus awaits. The air is getting hotter. The stench grows thicker. My eyes, they burn. The final step. I'm down... there. More people. Hundreds of people. Weary, broken souls. The sweat. The smell. The... freakin' trash. Man, don't they ever clean this place?! It's the forgotten gate of Hell. O'Hare F11. It's old. The seats, the carpet, the walls, the doors - all old! I look around for an empty seat (two really, Sam's with me, but the buddy system isn't as dramatic). There are none to be found. It's standing room only waiting for the Inferno Express, muahahaha!

 

Our My flight is supposed to depart at 7:55, but it's only 6:30. So, I wait. I wait with the others. The other souls also condemned to a wait time of misery and despair. Praying against the odds that their flights won't be delayed or...[gasp] cancelled. I make my way through the trash and the filth, past the vermin, to a seat in the corner. I'm surrounded by, and filled with, fear and loathing in Chicago.

So, that's pretty much it. Our flight actually left right on time, and thanks to the jet stream, we arrived at CAK a few minutes early. But that gate - that gate is absolutely disgusting. Someone should really clean that place. It stinks, and the trash barrels are overflowing.

Conclusion

All told, Chicago was pretty fun. We learned a lot about the new system, hung out with some great guys from the UK, saw some good live music, and made some new friends. As they say - It dudn't git much better'n at.

Cheers,
Goody